The Dark I Know Well
by CardboardCreative
Summary: Fiyero knows he and Glinda were doomed from the start.  He knows where they went wrong.  Fiyeraba! And musicalverse! And... angsty!


Disclaimer: **If someone out there would like to give me the rights Wicked, I would be more than happy to take it. But until then- oh no, I am so poor, please do not sue me. Ah.**

Note: **I was listening to the Spring Awakening soundtrack this morning, while coming down from a pumpkin pie rush acquired from last night, and this is what happened. It's dialogueless, but worth a read.**

- - -

The air was thick. Gritty, even, in regard to the sand that had been tasted and spat out from Fiyero's mouth. His eyebrows knit together in order to see through the sharp daylight, in a facial grimace, the foreign texture and earthy flavour not entirely rid of. Falling to the ground, whether tripped or shot down, is embarrassing to everyone. And what better a way for a man to conceal his humiliation than to lash out in anger?

The thickness of air originated from the heavy, humid weather in the woods, painting a fine sheen of sweat over the Winkie Prince's exposed flesh, heating up his body beneath the green and gold material of his Gale Force uniform. It was woollen, and absurd to wear in such conditions; but for the sake of his sanity, pretence, and delegation, he would bear it.

This assignment was not obligatory to his position in the Guard, and yet he took it to get away from his fiancée. Never would Fiyero think to be sending himself- and his squad- on a potentially fatal wild goose chase just to escape one of the most sought after women in Emerald City.

They were kids; the both of them, and that's what he kept trying to convince himself. Barely two decades old, and encumbered with repute which neither possessed the maturity or preparation for. How else were they to survive, if not for the ghost that supported their chins, and one another?

On the nights when Fiyero instigated a farewell to his peppy, bright faced bride-to-be, since they slept in separate rooms, Glinda would answer the door with dusty blue eyes rimmed with pink, trying to conceal sniffles, and possessing prominent smile lines only found in her frown, for her grinning was so false.

It didn't make her unattractive, and it didn't surprise Fiyero. It did, though, lead him to believe that Glinda wished it was not he who had stolen away what she could never restore, but the constant spectre that existed between the two of them, between their lives and their livelihood. Maybe, when her body was splayed before him like some kind of fabled goddess, but this time, her inner thighs painted a chastising, evocative jade, Fiyero would have left her alone.

He knew it was not Elphaba's intention to leave her two friends behind in such fitful despondence, and yet it was useless to wish her back. The Captain of the Guard was identified so for the specific purpose to bring her back, and yet he felt it a fruitless cause, even though he'd known the green girl for a short time. She was so determined, invested so much faith into her convictions, that she would come back either an Ozma high and mighty, or dead.

It was not Glinda who became tearful and unable to speak once they had made physical their agreement of marriage, but the Winkie Prince, feeling foolish now upon the memory of holding his palms to his eyes like an upset child. But that is what he _was_.

And now he was far from that. Before Elphaba, before Shiz, Fiyero had envisioned himself at this age, brimming with pride and prestige, holding parties with his father's money and sailing through life like a dancer pirouetting on ice. Or even where he was now, as Captain of the Guard and dedicated to his duty and oath; celebrated by all in the Emerald City who knew him.

Yet Fiyero wished to remain a child, slipping in and out of schools and making his mother cry, instead of Glinda, who did not deserve it. For the many times he wanted to be back in the Vinkus, he and the blonde would share a bed again, not matter how they had even _discussed_ their dislike of it. It was as though the public was spying on them make love, waiting for either to show some kind of sign other than primitive instinct.

He did _not _want to marry a politician, Fiyero rathered a witch.

To get away from Glinda would do them both good, yes, to be searching for dangerous, armed fugitives in wood miles from the City. Catching these men, knocking in their decayed teeth with the newfound strength that was required of him, would provide a mild, temporary satisfaction of justice.

It was these complex thoughts, which resided way over Fiyero's head, which caused him to fall over, tripped by one of the thieves he was hunting. The man was carrying a scalpel-like stiletto knife, yet the Winkie was armed with a rifle- it was no surprise who could win the fight with the flick of a finger, and a bit of courage.

_I do not want to kill this man,_ Fiyero thought, wiping his upper lip of collected sweat and spitting at the ground again, avoiding a fast swipe of the knife. _I want to disarm, and then arrest him. The paperwork will keep me from Glinda. I will not kill because we're uncomfortable_.

If he killed this thief, then Fiyero's heart would feel heavy; he would feel like the moral equivalent of the dead man. This frightened him; thinking of circumstance before a deed was committed. But if he killed this man, Fiyero would seek comfort, which would reside in Glinda, and that would oxidize not only his conscience, but hers, as well.

Like street swine, they engaged in a quick grapple, Fiyero deflecting stabs to his belly with the barrel of his weapon as the thief shouted profanities. This was what Fiyero existed for know; swift defence, while his head moved in slow motion.

_Love_, Fiyero thought, _is swift defence and your head moving in slow motion_.

That was what it was. He was completely, hopelessly in love with Elphaba, while he figured Glinda was, in a friendly sense, the same. And Elphaba was completely, hopelessly dedicated to her cause, and he knew that from the look she had given him upon leaving for the Emerald City. It told the boy of fondness, it told him of pureness, and it told him of good intention. How could he possibly still be that boy?

No, now Fiyero had this life of defence, and this lie of betrothal, while he daydreamed of a rare smile, graceful green fingers capturing his own, now calloused mitts; the slightest touch eliciting the most colossal, earth shattering reaction.

Fiyero did not want to destroy Glinda by marriage, which would occur, not matter how she objected. Perhaps it would shatter his fantasy of true love; of happy endings, which he did think of, despite the cliché. If Fiyero could spend a night with the blonde and feel nothing but numbness, but join hands for a single moment with Elphaba, who was both the phantom and the dove, and feel his entire past crumble into elation, then what was the point of this?

Fiyero licked his lips and ducked a swing from the thief. He stepped back from the other man to gain some leverage as he lifted his rifle.

_Love,_ Fiyero thought, watching as the thief realized that this uniformed soldier would either be merciful and shoot the knife from his hand, or be a cowardly bastard and kill him, _is constant defence and your head thinking green, only green_.

And then he pulled the trigger.

- - -  
**Oh my goodness, this is the first Fiyeraba I have ever tried writing. Someone's got to review and give me some honest feedback. It's not edited, so if it sucks, I shall never touch Fiyeraba again! Dun dun duuuun...**


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